Who We Were When
by ournoisyhearts
Summary: Sebastian is a riddle that is impossible to solve. He is a conundrum in all the ways that count, but the anonymity that he offers is something Hunter desperately craves. If Sebastian can give him that kind of security, then Hunter supposes he can do the same. AU. Huntbastian.
1. Chapter 1

**notes; **this pretty much came out of nowhere, and i'm not even really sure where it's going yet, but i wanted to post what i have written so far just to see if it's even worth continuing. i don't have much except a few vague scene ideas (not so much an overall plot), so consider this a work in progress to the extreme. hopefully an update will come soon enough, and i don't end up abandoning this. let me know if it's even decent so far, yeah? please!

**featuring; **hunter clarington, sebastian smythe, blaine anderson, and more to come.

* * *

**chapter one**

* * *

Days like today always feel muted somehow; dimmer. The layer of grey clouds that blankets the sky acts a bit like a lens cap that hasn't been screwed on properly. The light still leaks in, but it is duller, splotchy. The images come out speckled and distorted, and Hunter views the world as if it's been diluted, the air heavy with the swell and promise of rain and something else entirely.

As he inhales, his lungs expand, and he takes in the scent of fresh pine and moist earth. Each rise and fall of his chest is a gentle motion that matches the eerie stillness of the moment, his footsteps the only sound as they crunch over dull earth. Around him, the forest is quiet, a calm before the storm; there is no chirping of birds, no rustling in the bushes, and even the river seems silent, the water a mere trickle across the rocks as it awaits the impending rainfall. Hunter pauses at the edge of the bed and crouches down, camera a solid weight in his hands. He hovers at eye-level with the opposing shore, which slopes up steeply until it plateaus off into a small meadow that brackets the continuation of the woods a few more yards off, and positions the camera in front of his face. Through the viewfinder, he sees nature, motionless and unimposing. _Click. _A smattering of stones, the water licking over the tops of them. _Click. _The grass, sprouting up unbidden at the opposite ledge. Hunter doesn't need life to have reason to capture something; he just needs _something,_ and a day like today is perfect for such a cause.

_Click. Click. _His index finger is one with the shutter button, and he remains squatted, knees bent over his ankles. It's been too long since he's done this, and it takes a few minutes until he is lulled back into the spell of it all, the serenity washing over him as he works. _Click. _A lone dandelion loses some of its filaments, despite the lack of a tangible breeze. _Click. _The shutter closes, opens, and there is suddenly a set of feet on the opposite bank, shoved into a pair of worn leather sandals with a woven band wrapped around the left ankle.

Hunter snaps another picture before he lowers the camera and lifts his head, settling the object against his knees. Sebastian stares over at him with a peculiar expression, both eyebrows lowered and arms folded loosely across his chest. His cargo shorts are shredded at the knees, striped tank-top stretching across the carved planes of his chest. He looks utterly Californian, and for a moment, Hunter is stunned. He forgets how long it's been, just a handful of months, really, that Sebastian has been here. He'd moved to Brook Springs back in October, when the forest was a mess of dead leaves and twisted branches, and the town was just as vacant, still reeling from the end of tourist season in early fall. Sebastian's arrival had been the topic of all conversation. Hunter remembers it—the whispers, the stares. Mostly, though, he remembers the question: _why is he here? _Sebastian's perfect tan and swept-back hair don't fit in here, in a rugged mountain town in Colorado, and even now, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

But Hunter finds his lack of shame refreshing. Sebastian doesn't back step, doesn't try to explain away the Hollywood looks or his abrupt appearance. He refuses to change himself. He simply floats through town as if he is on some sort of vanishing mist, slinking in and then out again each time without batting an eye. Untouchable. That is what Hunter would classify him as. So very untouchable, yet endlessly intriguing.

From where it is poised on his knee, Hunter adjusts his camera and angles his neck so that he can see the display screen. He hits the shutter button without even squinting through the view finder. _Click._

"I figured you'd be here," Sebastian greets him.

Hunter finally pushes himself up to his feet, dusting his knees off out of habit and hefting his camera between both palms. The river swirls along between them, an eight-foot gap that is more of a creek, in the grand scheme of things. It is only because the river narrows here, higher up in the mountains as it curves through dirt and rock. Hunter glances down at the water, his mouth twisting as he observes the way it leaves a damp stain on the dusty shore.

"Where else would I be?" he responds, a beat later. Sebastian shrugs, and is then picking his way down the river's edge and wading into the water. It hardly reaches the frayed hems of his shorts, even as he shuffles out into the very middle. Hunter watches on, unphased. This is just Sebastian; careless and unperturbed. He exits the water just as he'd entered it, without so much as a sigh, and Hunter follows the paths of the water droplets as they streak down the sides of the man's calves.

Sebastian climbs back up to meet him, and upon coming to a stop before Hunter, he asks, "take anything decent?"

Hunter makes a noncommittal sound and fiddles with his lens focus, slender fingers idly spinning the control around. "I'll find out soon enough," he answers quietly.

The freckles on the bridge of Sebastian's nose are more prominent today. Hunter vaguely wonders if it's because of the recent dry spell, the unusual few weeks of sunlight that have been trailing them as of late. For mid-April, the lack of rain has been almost startling—but Hunter already knows that today, the drought ends. He can already feel it, like a physical inkling beneath his skin.

Sebastian's eyes dart up to the sky for a brief moment, as if he is reading Hunter's mind. "Looks like rain," he comments absently. The words have Hunter's lips quirking up at one side, the irony of the nonchalance and Sebastian's current dress not lost on him. Still, he embraces the casual attitude, the easygoing nature that the other man radiates. It's why he welcomes Sebastian's presence in the first place. He is something exhilarating, a novelty in this small town.

"Do you even own a jacket?" The inquiry slips out of Hunter's mouth as he brushes past Sebastian and wanders over to a cluster of rocks a few steps away, where his camera bag lies. He hears Sebastian follow along behind him, his reply coming in the form of a derisive snort, and Hunter cracks a smile as he tucks his camera back into its case and hooks the strap over his shoulder.

"Jackets are for people who aren't tough enough to brave a few raindrops," Sebastian states.

At that, Hunter turns back around and arches a single eyebrow. "Or they're for people who don't want to catch a cold every time they step outside."

"I have a very strong immune system."

They fall into step beside each other, managing their way back towards the trail that leads into town. Hunter is already shaking his head as they walk, and when he glimpses sideways at Sebastian, the man is looking back at him, a playful upturn to his lips.

With a soft huff of indignation, Hunter mutters, "when you get sick, don't expect me to take care of you."

"I already survived one winter here, didn't I?" Sebastian retorts.

"That's nothing," Hunter brushes the claim off with the wave of a hand. "Summer is always the worst. The tourists bring in all of their foreign germs that we're not ready for."

"Yeah, but I've lived in a place of civilization before, remember?"

It is a small dig, but Hunter shoves at Sebastian's side anyway, his elbow knocking into the man's stomach. "Civilization, huh? Sounds taxing."

"Oh, it was." And Sebastian's voice has dropped, going so quiet that Hunter almost misses the words. Once they register, he glances over again, but Sebastian's eyes are on his feet. There had been something in his tone, a hollow honesty that rattles Hunter slightly. It isn't the first time Sebastian has spoken of his time in California, but it is the first that he's mentioned it with such distaste and defeat. Hunter hardly knows anything about Sebastian's life beyond his name, his birthday, and how he received the scar on the inside of his right elbow, but he does have his suspicions. However, he knows that for now, Sebastian won't answer if he were to ask. Hunter understands the beauty of anonymity, even wishes for his own, sometimes. In a place like Brook Springs, it is nearly impossible, except for people like Sebastian, who in turn can provide Hunter with a flitting sense of it, at least for a little while. It's why this thing between them is even a _thing,_ going far beyond the appreciation for each other's company.

They lapse into a silence that lasts the rest of the journey back into town. Hunter's bag bumps against his side every few moments as his feet trudge heavily across the ground, and Sebastian has his hands tucked into his pockets, his sandals kicking up dirt as they go. When the first outlines of the wooden buildings become visible, their movements taper off until both of them have paused in the middle of the path, Sebastian's head lowered as he hovers a couple of inches across from Hunter's form.

"You coming back into town at all?" Hunter asks, almost on auto-pilot, though he already knows the answer. Sebastian's cabin is up the river a ways, surrounded by a thicket of trees, but it might as well be a universe away. Hunter has never been there, nor has anyone else in town, for that matter. The isolation only heightens the enigma that is Sebastian.

"I'm thinking I'll just hole up for awhile, wait the storm out," Sebastian explains. Hunter's nod is a stilted gesture, and he takes a step back, hooking his fingers around the strap of his bag.

"Well, when you make it back in, come find me. We can see how these pictures turned out."

The smile that Sebastian offers him is a grateful one. _Thank you for leaving me be. _"Watch out for those chemicals. You don't need another stained shirt."

"Maybe we can sew all my ruined ones together, turn them into a jacket," Hunter teases. He is stalling, now. Knows that any second, Sebastian will turn on his heel and walk away, for who knows how long. It may be a day, or it may be a week. He can fall off the face of the planet without even blinking, and every time, the ache in Hunter's stomach is greater than before.

"You should worry less about my wellbeing and focus on your own," Sebastian grumbles. Still, there is a begrudging grin on his lips, and he inclines his head a tad more in what is an apparent dismissal. "Stay dry, okay?"

Each step Sebastian takes backwards now feels infinitesimally more unconquerable, like he is wisping away, straight through Hunter's fingers. He'll be back eventually—_eventually, _Hunter knows this—but his heart still sinks, deeper and deeper into the pit of his gut in a way that he can't explain.

Sebastian's fingers lift. He wiggles them in a minute wave, and then Hunter is gazing after his retreating back, palm visibly tightening around the rough strap against his shoulder.

"Okay," he echoes, a moment too late.

* * *

It starts like this:

A Wednesday afternoon in October, Hunter has one gloved finger positioned over the shutter button as he moves to capture the corner of a lone bench in town, the sea of orange and brown leaves that are littered around its base. The cold air bites at his skin, and he tucks his chin into the collar of his coat, still re-adjusting to the winter climate as the last few remnants of summer dissipate completely.

As he fumbles with the camera in his hands, someone clears their throat from nearby and causes him to look up. Somehow, he'd missed the arrival of a tall figure behind said bench, and when Hunter blinks, the person is still there. The sight of the unfamiliar face has him reeling slightly, and he clumsily straightens up, limbs feeling awkward beneath the weight of the stranger's calculating stare.

"Um, hello?" Hunter says carefully.

The stranger is lean, skin darkened by the sun, and his hazel eyes are slanted as they assess Hunter over the top of the bench. His hair is color of sand, after it has been soaked through with water, and it is brushed elegantly over the top of his head, the part fine and perfectly even. He screams _visitor _even from these first few observations, and Hunter is immediately wary, considering the last of the tourists had filtered out a few weeks ago.

"If you wanted to take a picture of me, all you had to do was ask," the man replies finally.

His voice oozes with a mixture of snark and confidence, and he speaks with an attitude that normally would set Hunter's teeth on edge. But for some reason, instead of annoyance, Hunter is...bemused. He clutches his camera between both hands and raises it, peering through the view finder and snapping a quick picture before the man can shift.

"It was the bench, actually," he explains, lowering the camera once more. "You just happened to step into the shot."

The stranger's grin unfurls like a flag in the wind, spreading across his face in a jumble of white teeth and pink lips. "But wouldn't I make a far more interesting subject?"

"I prefer still life."

The stranger hums thoughtfully, and is then circling the bench, coming around to stand at Hunter's side. "I can see why you'd live here, then," he observes, eyes scanning the quiet set of buildings surrounding them.

His tone is neutral, so void that Hunter can't decide if the words are meant to be condescending or not. He settles for a simple, "it's very peaceful right now, sure. But you just missed the hoards of ignorant tourists coming in search of 'beautiful rivers' and 'mountain bike adventures!'"

Hunter's voice lilts upwards on the descriptions, like how the announcers proclaim them on the radio advertisements and on the television, and to his surprise, the stranger laughs. It isn't just a chuckle; it's a full-bellied, head-thrown-back laugh, and it makes Hunter smile a bit, his features softening around the edges. He looks down at his hands, where his thumb is absently locking and unlocking the lens cap.

"I can tell you're very fond of these visitors," the stranger replies a moment later. With one eyebrow arching gracefully upwards, he adds, "does that mean I should run and hide while I still can?"

"You haven't asked me where the souvenir shop is yet, so I think you're in the clear."

There it is again; that laugh. Bright and all-encompassing. "Well, in that case, you should know that I'm not really a visitor. I just moved in, a bit of a ways outside of town. I'm Sebastian."

The man stretches out his hand, and after moving his camera to rest beneath the opposite arm, Hunter takes it. His palms are smooth, the skin baby-fine, and Hunter wonders at the texture, questions of who this man is—_Sebastian—_and what exactly he's doing here flitting through his mind. He doesn't fail to notice how the man doesn't offer a last name, or even a location of origin, and it makes Hunter speculate over whether he perhaps has something to hide.

"Hunter," he introduces at last.

Sebastian nods in acknowledgement, palm dropping back to his side, and the sudden absence of warmth against his own hand has Hunter idly flexing his fingers. He tucks his camera in closer to his waist and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting uncomfortably until Sebastian says, "well, if you ever do happen to be looking for a living, breathing model, my offer still stands."

A chuckle bubbles its way out of Hunter's throat, and he tips the corner of his mouth up into what he hopes appears as a grateful smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Welcome to Brook Springs, Sebastian."

It starts like that.

* * *

It develops like this:

Hunter will bump into Sebastian at the most inopportune moments. Usually while he is preoccupied with his camera; he'll be down by the river, and Sebastian will show up out of nowhere, clad in only a short-sleeved shirt and jeans that do little to shield him from the rapidly cooling weather. Sometimes, there will be banter, while others, Sebastian will merely watch as Hunter goes about his work in silence. It should be awkward, to be under such scrutiny, but Hunter finds himself welcoming the attention. They don't ask each other questions, and Hunter is forced to learn about Sebastian in entirely new way—via the movements of his body and his facial expressions. It is like piecing together a puzzle, ever so slowly, and he enjoys the challenge.

But there are still bumps along the way. Like when Sebastian will disappear for days without so much as a word, leaving Hunter to worry over whether he is still breathing. Eventually, he learns that this is just Sebastian's way. It is his method of maintaining that anonymity that Hunter so desperately craves. To be a story-less face in this town would be more than a blessing (though with Sebastian, he is able to achieve this; the anonymity is mutual. Hunter revels in it).

Somewhere along the way, they become friends. It's a strange word; _friends._ It implies that they know things about each other, which is far from the truth, and yet, it is exactly the kind of relationship that Hunter needs. He hadn't realized just how lonely he'd become, in his little mountain town, until Sebastian had waltzed in and tipped the delicate balance of his life on its head.

He's decided to embrace the change.

* * *

Today, it happens like this:

Hunter treads through town with his head down, even though every person he passes has their concerned eyes focused solely on him. It's exhausting, the attention, which refuses to fade despite the fact that it's been months. Eleven, to be exact. Almost an entire year, and they still treat him like some fragile object, ready to be shattered at any moment.

Hunter hates it.

It's a slight price to pay, living on the opposite end of town, and as he moves further away from where Sebastian had left him, each step becomes more forced than the last. The false sense of tranquility from earlier has all but vanished. The air hangs heavy with judgment and the building precipitation, and Hunter suddenly aches to be tucked away in his darkroom, shielded from everything and everyone.

A voice outside the general store stops him.

"Hunt!" Blaine calls out.

Pausing, Hunter contemplates what the consequences would be if he were to just keep walking. He hasn't really spoken to Blaine since everything happened, his friend having distanced himself soon afterwards. Hunter had been livid, at first; begging to know how Blaine could just abandon him, especially during such a difficult time—but now, he's over it. Moved on. He doesn't need Blaine (the only person to ever halfway understand him in this shitty town, before Sebastian).

Though he still turns around.

"Blaine," he nods, cordial as ever. One of his hands falls to rest against the camera case at his hip, and Blaine's eyes track the motion before jumping back up to Hunter's face.

"I've—" Blaine begins, but his mouth instantly snaps back shut. His gaze drops to his own hands, and Hunter observes the visible bob of his Adam's apple (a nervous motion, possibly?) as he waits patiently for the other man to gather himself. A moment later, Blaine stretches out his arm.

"You know that guy, right? Sebastian? He got some mail today, but he never comes in, so I wasn't sure how..." he trails off, and Hunter's fingers close around the proffered stack of envelopes while something bitter claws its way through his stomach. _Of course._ Blaine wouldn't actually want to speak with him; not that Hunter was even hoping for such a thing.

"I'll get it to him," Hunter finally agrees. As he says the words, though, he really isn't so sure—who knows when he'll see Sebastian again? "Thanks."

"That's...uh, yeah. Thank you," Blaine mumbles as his arm falls back to his side. He rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, an anxious tick that Hunter is familiar with, and it sends a pang of nostalgia clanging along inside of Hunter's chest.

_When did everything become so screwed up?_

"Well," he mutters, hiking his bag strap further up his shoulder and lowering his head. "I'll see you around."

Blaine doesn't move to try and prevent him from leaving. In fact, he doesn't make a single sound of protest. Hunter can feel the man's eyes following him as he strolls away, but he resolutely doesn't look back. Sebastian's mail is a solid, mysterious weight in his hands, and he instead chooses to focus on that, his eyes flitting up to where there isn't even a return address in the corner.

Perhaps saying that Sebastian is an enigma is even a bit of an understatement.


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter two**

* * *

Hunter shouldn't be here.

It's only been three days. That's hardly anything compared to Sebastian's other disappearances, but it's already three days too long. The stack of mail he'd received from Blaine has been sitting on his kitchen counter since that afternoon, and Hunter has spent far too much time staring down at the unsigned envelopes, his mind clogging along in curiosity. If he were a better person, he would have just kept them until he next ran into Sebastian; but with each hour that passes, his wonder heightens, and he knows that if he doesn't get rid of the letters soon, he might do something monumentally stupid, like open one of them.

And so, he now stands on Sebastian's front stoop, mail clutched in one hand and a stack of freshly developed photographs in the other. Even as he waits silently on the porch, not speaking, not even raising his fist to knock, it still feels as if he is intruding somehow. This is Sebastian's home—it is where he retreats when the outside world gets to be too much. Hunter knows the feeling. Not to mention how keen the other man is on not divulging any information about himself; that must extend to allowing someone else into his house. Even if Hunter would like to think that they're friends, he knows that it doesn't mean much to say such a thing. After all, isn't the whole point of their sharing each other's company to avoid talking about anything in the first place?

For a brief moment, he contemplates just turning around and trekking back into town. It's hardly a fifteen minute walk, and he needs to stop in and pick up a few things at the store, anyway. But somehow, he manages to shove down the urge to flee, and remains sure-footed on the step as he swaps his photographs to the opposite hand and gently taps on the door.

There is no sound from inside. No creaking of footsteps, no shouted _just a minute!_ There is merely the pitter-patter of the rain on the awning, the rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm has come and gone, leaving only a few patches of drizzling water here and there. It has been showering steadily all morning, a light mist more than anything, and the droplets stick to Hunter's skin like a fine sheen of sweat. He's had to leave his camera at home in fear of the water damaging it, and being without it leaves him in a particularly vulnerable state, as if he is naked.

The groan of the door opening shocks him out of his musings. There still hasn't been any noise, but suddenly, Sebastian is there, head poking out just the slightest bit. His features shift upon spotting Hunter, flitting from surprise to confusion to something far more neutral, but he doesn't open the door any wider. Hunter takes this to mean exactly what he's been expecting.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian asks, his tone painfully casual. No _hi, Hunter,_ no friendly greeting or _hey, come on in._ A simple question, straight to the point. It screams, _you shouldn't have come._

"Some mail came for you a few days ago, and the clerk asked me to give it to you." He doesn't mention Blaine's name (not that Sebastian would recognize it, anyway) as he holds out the stack of letters. Sebastian's arm somewhat hesitantly extends past the doorframe to take them, his eyebrows drawing downwards in a silent question.

"Thanks." _You couldn't have waited?_ He flips idly through the stack, and Hunter watches as the other man doesn't even appear to falter over the lack of return addresses in the corners. When Sebastian peers back up again, his forehead is wrinkled, and Hunter knows that he should leave now. He shouldn't even be here at all. He is breaking all of the unspoken rules in their carefully constructed relationship, but for some reason, today, he can't seem to care.

"I also brought these," he says, clearing his throat and offering Sebastian the set of photos. Something in the man's eyes softens, and he shifts his mail to the other hand as he grabs onto the pictures and squints down at them. The first one happens to be the shot of Sebastian's feet, his anklet a soft shadow against his tanned skin as the grass curls upwards over the edges of his flip-flops and prods at his toes. The corner of Sebastian's mouth tips upwards ever so slightly as he looks at it, and Hunter doesn't miss the motion, something proud and relieved settling in his stomach.

"I forget how good you are, sometimes," Sebastian responds finally, his head lifting as he finds Hunter's gaze. In the depths of his eyes, Hunter immediately notices that he is battling with himself over something, but the war doesn't appear to last long, because then he is adding a quiet, "can I keep them?"

Hunter forces himself to nod. "Of course," he croaks out.

Sebastian's eyes are slanted, assessing. It is only now that Hunter realizes the state that the other man is in—gone is the neatly styled hair, the confident bend of his shoulders. His eyes are ringed by two dark circles, and his t-shirt has a large hole near his rib cage. _Newport Harbor, _the words across his chest read. He looks exhausted and unkempt, and the feeling that he has infringed upon something exceedingly private slams into Hunter full-force. He shuffles back a step and turns his head away, one palm rising to rub sheepishly at the nape of his neck.

"I should—" his words cut off as his hand drops back to his side. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Sebastian says quietly.

"I don't know why I didn't just..."

"It's _fine,_" Sebastian repeats, and when Hunter jerks his head up, the man is looking at some unfathomable point to their left. His stomach twists. "You had my mail. I appreciate it."

_No, you don't. Stop lying and trying to act like this is okay,_ Hunter wants to protest. _Stop trying to make me feel like I haven't fucked up royally. _

He doesn't say anything.

Sebastian won't look at him. His gaze has now settled somewhere near their feet, and Hunter draws in a shaky breath. The tension between them is stifling. He doesn't know how to get rid of it—he is floundering, thrashing around in the water as he tries to come up for air. Over their heads, the thunder rumbles menacingly again, and Hunter wonders if the storm has reversed direction and is coming back for them again.

Lifting his eyes, Sebastian glimpses up at the awning that hangs above them. The raindrops are a rhythmic tapping against the roof, the trickle of the water through the trees surrounding them drawing the area into a soft lull.

"Storm's picking up again," Sebastian comments lowly.

_Goodbye, _he means.

"Yeah," Hunter agrees.

_For how long?_ he is asking.

"I should probably go sort through this mail."

_Long enough._

The sound of the door lurching shut behind him as he climbs down from Sebastian's porch is like a shotgun, piercing the calmness of the woods around them. Hunter tucks his hands into his pockets and ducks his head, the water rinsing away the sweat and the uncertainty that prickles at the back of his neck. He doesn't know what he'd been thinking; actually, he _hadn't _been thinking. Things between he and Sebastian now feel irrevocably different, as if a chasm has suddenly cracked open between them, gaping and unsurpassable.

A notably heavy raindrop smacks onto Hunter's forehead and slips down over his nose. He reaches up and furiously scrubs it away just as the first flash of lightning illuminates the murky sky.

* * *

Hunter is sixteen when he first picks up a camera.

It is his younger sister's twelfth birthday. Alexandra is dressed in red, her blonde hair tied up neatly with a bow and her mary-janes polished. Her fingers are twisted in the wrapping paper of a medium sized box, and Hunter is seated on the couch beside his father, a wide smile on his face.

When Alex finishes ripping apart the present, her face lighting up and her grin spreading rapidly, their father passes Hunter the camera and says, "here, you take a couple."

The device is smooth beneath his fingertips, black as night, and his eye fits perfectly over the view finder. He raises the camera and fiddles with the buttons on the side until he can manage a clear enough image, the smiling face of his sister as she holds a beautiful, crystalline clock in her hands. Behind her, the sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating her blonde hair in a halo of gold. The rays shimmer as they dart through the transparent surface of the clock and then splinter into a million different directions, each beam streaking across the image.

The photograph ends up in a frame on their living room wall. Hunter's father lets him keep the camera.

"You have a knack for it," he tells his son.

* * *

The photograph is now one of tens, hundreds that are scattered all over the walls of Hunter's house. Each surface is the start of a new collage, mostly of mountain scenes, rivers and trees and sunlight, though there is the occasional piece from his earlier days. The image of his sister is one of few. There is also a family portrait, minus himself, that he'd taken a few years ago on the fourth of July; Alex's cheeks are stained pink from the sun, and Hunter's father and mother are arm in arm in matching red white and blue, the essence of a happy family. On the wall behind the dining room table, there are also two pictures of Sebastian: the first, the shot of his feet peeking out from behind the bench on that very first day, and the other, the impromptu capture of his freckled face, taken only minutes after the first one.

As Hunter hovers in front of the wall and stares at the highlights on Sebastian's cheekbones, he thinks back to that cold morning in October. It had marked four months _since,_ and Hunter had been in dire need of a distraction. Something to make him forget about it all, to take him away from the pitying looks and the grating whispers. At first, he'd been grateful just to have the attention diverted from him—no longer was it _that poor Clarington boy,_ but instead, _that mysterious newcomer._ Sebastian's arrival had been a blessing that Hunter wasn't expecting, yet a curse at the same time, because now they are here.

Where? That is the real question. Turning away from the photograph, Hunter moves into the kitchen and rummages around in the fridge in search of something to eat. A half-empty container of turkey, a jar of mayonnaise. There are even two slices of bread left in the bag on the counter. It will have to do. He goes about making the sandwich in silence, and eats it while leaning up against the counter, his eyes tracing the cracked wood of the cabinets in front of him. He can still feel the raindrops peppering his hair, and he chews slowly as he reaches up with one hand to brush it absently over the top of his head. His palm comes away wet. Each bite he takes is methodic. Chew. Swallow.

Every grind of his teeth just brings him right back to _Sebastian._

His scraped up knees. The fine hairs that cover his arms and legs. The mole on the back of his neck, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. The gentle melody that is his laughter. How his expression constantly appears to be one of deep thought, as if there is a wall between him and the outside world. The band he always wears around his ankle, a series of soft colors against his skin.

Hunter shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth. Belatedly, he wonders what the story behind that anklet is. He wonders a lot of things about Sebastian.


	3. Chapter 3

**chapter three**

* * *

There is a picture of Blaine on the wall behind the sofa. It is an old shot, one from their high school graduation, and Blaine's smile is as bright as the sun, lines digging into his cheeks as he clutches his cap in one hand. His curls are strewn wildly about the top of his head, and Hunter can remember the day perfectly, how the wind bit into their cheeks as they listened to their names get called and received their diplomas. It had felt so monumental, at the time—they were _graduating. _They were young and free to go anywhere, to do anything. The opportunities had seemed endless.

But within months, it was like the door to opportunity had slammed shut. They were kidding themselves. How could they leave Brook Springs? Anyone who left only ended up returning; it was inevitable. Looking back, Hunter almost wants to laugh at his own ignorance, at just how deluded he had been by the prospect of the _future._ The future, he wanted to tell his eighteen-year-old self, was bleak. Boring. A roaming expanse of years that would drag on like a slow, drawn-out version of his death.

_You're such a cynic sometimes,_ Blaine had told him once. They were twenty-one and seated at the only bar in town, two mugs of beer placed in front of them. Hunter had been staring down into his glass and waxing about life, and death, and everything morose in between, and Blaine had called him on it, just like he always did. It was how they worked. Push, pull, yin, yang. Blaine was bubbly, content, despite the hand he'd been given by living in Brook Springs, while Hunter turned quieter, was more bitter about things. It was a drastic difference that still managed to provide some sort of balance, and they just worked. It had been that way since they were ten years old.

Though things change, Hunter supposes. He guesses that it wasn't just the incident that had Blaine cutting ties—it was probably that, combined with his growing tired of Hunter's constant depressive swings, his darkened outlook on life. _I wish you would talk to me,_ Blaine had murmured, only a few weeks before everything went straight to hell. _I wish you would let someone help you._

And that was Blaine: always willing, always wanting to do the right thing. So much more of a person than Hunter could ever be.

_I don't need help,_ Hunter had replied, and that was that.

He glances at the picture of Blaine now, and a solid pang echoes through his chest, a sharp burst of longing for his best friend. _I wish you had tried harder, _Hunter thinks. _I wish you hadn't let me push you away._

Allowing himself a brief moment more of wallowing, Hunter stares at Blaine's smiling face, then carefully hooks his camera strap around his neck and heads for the door.

* * *

"Can I see your camera?"

Hunter's head jerks upwards, stops halfway. Sebastian's hands are outstretched in a placating gesture, but he jolts forward when Hunter moves and adds, "no, no—stay like that. Right there. Just pass me the camera."

The protest is on the tip of Hunter's tongue. _Three weeks,_ he wants to snap, _you disappear for three weeks, and now you want me to hand you my most prized possession? _But Sebastian is here, he's hiked through the forest until he was able to find Hunter, and that means something. It's the reason Hunter gingerly lowers the camera from around his neck and passes it to Sebastian, who responds with a pleased smile, his eyes saying, _I know. I know, and thank you._

"Move back to how you were, with your head against the trunk," the other man commands, and Hunter blinks, tips his head back to obey. Above him, the leaves billow outwards in a green umbrella, the sunlight shimmering as it passes through the branches.

"Are you taking a picture of me?" Hunter asks. He isn't quite sure how to feel when Sebastian simply hums, the sound of him fiddling with buttons on the camera reaching Hunter's ears a second later. It causes him to wince. "If you mess with anything—"

"Relax," Sebastian assures him. "I know what I'm doing."

There is something so smooth, so genuine in his tone, that Hunter finds himself listening. His shoulders loosen, and he sinks back against the trunk, the rough bark scratching at his back. His eyes close. One knee is propped upwards, an arm curled loosely about it, and the other is spread to its full length in front of him. It's the exact position Sebastian had found him in only moments before.

"Good, that's good," Sebastian is mumbling, almost as if he is talking idly to himself. There is a gentle _click, _then another. Hunter doesn't turn to look; he doesn't want to see Sebastian's large palms cradling his camera, doesn't want to turn and find the man's attention focused solely on him. It feels almost disconcerting, to be in front of the lens rather than behind the viewfinder. It's as if he is being exposed, broken apart piece by piece with every time that Sebastian presses the shutter button.

Any words Hunter attempts to form feel heavy in his mouth, all wrong, even as he aches to fill the deafening silence. _Click. Click. _His fingers twitch against his leg, and he drops his chin to his chest, unfolding from his pose. "Are you finished?"

He is already reaching for his camera. Sebastian falls to his knees in front of Hunter and obligingly passes him the device, then rearranges his limbs so that he is sitting cross-legged. Hunter deposits the camera into his own lap before glimpsing forward again, and now, Sebastian has plucked a lone flower from the ground and is twirling it around and around between his fingers.

"When you develop those, can you make me a copy?" he inquires a beat later, just as he is picking off a loose petal and flicking it to the side. Hunter watches as it flutters down into the grass and tries to crush the surge of questions that arise in his mind. _Why would you want a picture of me? How do you know so much about photography? Where have you been for the past three weeks? Why did you go?_

His mouth opens, and all he says is, "sure."

They lapse into another silence, and Hunter swears he can hear the sound of each petal that Sebastian picks as it floats downwards. Almost childishly, he begins to utter the familiar words in his mind: _loves me, loves me not._

_Loves me. _A fly buzzes past his ear, and Hunter swats at it, grunts beneath his breath. Sebastian's grin of amusement is like a glass of ice water on a sticky summer day.

_Loves me not._ The final petal comes off. Sebastian gazes down at the empty stem and rolls it between his fingers. "I hung up those pictures you brought me. They're next to the fireplace that I don't use." He drops the stem, and it hits the ground more harshly than the flower petals. _Thunk. _"I like them."

Hunter's stomach has climbed halfway up his throat, and he swallows before drawing his knees up to his chest. "You should see my place," he mutters weakly. "Floor to ceiling. I hang up everything I develop."

He thinks of the two photographs of Sebastian in his dining room, how they are some of the only pictures that contain a living, breathing human being. He wonders if that is worth anything.

Hunter leans forward and rests his chin on his knees. He watches Sebastian closely, examining him for any signs of...something. There is a bruise on his left bicep, but it is small, almost unnoticeable. His hair is back to its usual neat part, and his t-shirt is a deep blue, the color of the sky on a clear day. His anklet is secure around the base of his leg. Hunter wants to reach out, run his fingertips over the woven string.

Instead, he picks up his camera and peers through the viewfinder. The quirk of Sebastian's brow is minute, and then it settles again, his features slackening as Hunter takes the photo. He then moves until he can spot the scattered flower petals next to Sebastian's knee.

_Loves me, loves me not._

"Do you want to come to Denver with me?"

Hunter lowers the camera. Sebastian's expression is neutral, his hands wisping over the grass at his sides. "I have to go pick some things up next week, and I wouldn't mind the company."

The offer is presented casually, but Hunter knows how enormous it really is. Sebastian is inviting him to—to see _something. _A part of his life. It may be as inconsequential as a road trip to the mile-high city, but the elation that curls in Hunter's gut is impossible to ignore. Suddenly, the past few weeks without contact have vanished, and all Hunter can see is open road and hushed voices and a chance that wasn't there before, a chance that he desperately wants to take.

But he has to be sure. Because this is Sebastian, and he's already overstepped their cautious boundaries once. "I..."

"You can bring your camera," Sebastian interrupts him. There is an upwards tilt to his mouth, and his fingers have fallen to fiddle with the band wrapped around his ankle. Hunter would hate to assume that the motion is a nervous one. "We'll get around the city a bit. I mean, it's only a few days, but it wouldn't hurt to get out of Brook Springs for awhile, right?"

Hunter is swamped by the images of lowered heads, of whispers and stares and unyielding pity. Blaine, behind the counter in the general store, always steadfastly ignoring his gaze. The cheerful grins of his family from their places in the photographs on his walls. His house, always eerily silent.

"Maybe we can even find you a decent jacket," Hunter declares. It is meant as a resounding _yes,_ and Sebastian's scoff of reply is only half-hearted, the relief evident in his gaze.

"It's almost summer. We can worry about the jacket later."

* * *

Hunter's fingers reek of chemicals, but he feels rather accomplished as he hangs up the last of his most recent set of photos. The cramped space of his darkroom is comfortable in a way that nowhere else is, and he loves the lull that he always finds himself sinking into while he works here, the way his mind clears and the weight lightens against his chest.

Two of the photos now hanging up are identical copies of the photo Sebastian had taken of him the other day. They've turned out—well, they are decent, to say the least. The lighting is a bit off, but it warps the atmosphere of the photo in a way that makes Hunter seem like more of an anomaly, a bit mysterious. He might even go so far as to say that Sebastian hadn't been lying when he'd said he knew what he was doing. Originally, the thought of witnessing himself in the photo had made Hunter cringe, but now, as he assesses the curve of his own neck and the tree trunk against his back, he is slightly mystified. He looks _good._

The next day, he tapes the photo up in the dining room, and beside it goes the impromptu photograph of Sebastian and his anklet, the flower petals spread like a swirling cloud at his feet.

Hunter marks his tally up to three.

* * *

"You're very photogenic," Sebastian tells him that afternoon. His fingers linger over the contours of Hunter's face in the photograph, and the movement is like a phantom brush that hovers over Hunter's cheekbones.

He rubs absently at his jaw. Shrugs. "You just managed to take a good shot."

And then, Sebastian is looking at him. His mouth opens as if he is about to say more, but he stops himself, his jaw slowly closing before he gazes back down at the photograph in his hands. Hunter's palms feel unnaturally clammy, and his cheeks are warm, so warm. He can't describe it. All he knows is that Sebastian handles the photograph with such care that Hunter has the vaguest sensation that it is his entire being the man is holding, not some flimsy sheet of photo paper. Sebastian's eyes scan the outline of Hunter's figure in the image so imploringly that it sends a spark shooting down to Hunter's toes, and he busies himself with screwing the lens cap onto his camera, fingers shaking as he does so.

They are by the river again, seated on a cluster of oversized stones at the water's edge. Sebastian's sandals are discarded up the sloping hill behind them, and his toes poke through the surface, sending ripples outwards as the tadpoles scurry past his feet. Hunter has his own jeans rolled up, though his feet rest on a separate rock rather than in the water as he sits with his camera hooked around his neck. Sebastian is still examining the photo, the quiet trickle of water winding around them, and it is a long while before he speaks again.

"You are, though," Sebastian murmurs. It takes a minute for Hunter to realize what Sebastian is referring to, and once he does, he has to force himself not to refute the statement. "It looks so natural. Your facial expression, the way your arms are situated—everything."

There is a knowledgeable edge to Sebastian's voice, like he's discussed this kind of thing before, and Hunter wonders, but he doesn't question it. His own tone, when he speaks, is quiet. "I'm not used to being the one _in _the pictures."

Turning his head sideways to peer at Hunter, Sebastian's mouth turns up into a bemused smile as he idly splashes at the water with his big toe. "Well, get used to it, because I'm going to be stealing your camera a lot more often."

"It'll be pointless once I refuse to help you develop the pictures," Hunter points out.

"Like you would refuse." Sebastian snorts, and Hunter has to duck his head, because it's true. He doubts he could say no to Sebastian.

"Shut up," comes his weak reply a second later.

"Just think," Sebastian abruptly exclaims, clambering up to his feet to balance precariously on the rocks. His arms fly outwards in a grand gesture, photograph still clutched in one hand, and as he throws his head back and spins around in a wild tornado of limbs, Hunter has to fumble to get his camera ready quickly enough to take a picture. The mountains are a faded line behind Sebastian's head, the sun framing his figure in a yellow glow , and he looks as otherworldly as ever. Hunter grapples with the shutter button as he waits for Sebastian to finish his statement. _Click. _"You get to put up with me for four days straight. All of my incessant chatter."

"Sounds terrible," Hunter grumbles halfheartedly. He takes another picture before lowering the camera, and Sebastian is glancing down at him, his eyes slanted at the corners as he grins.

"I already know how photogenic I am, so don't worry about telling me," he announces airily.

"I would never give you the ego boost," Hunter promises.


	4. Chapter 4

**chapter four**

* * *

Sebastian's car is an old pickup truck, a 1979 Datsun with rusted paint and a bench seat. Hunter doesn't ask as to how Sebastian has acquired it, or make his assumptions that Sebastian would drive something far more luxurious and California-esque known. He simply arches an eyebrow as Sebastian hefts their two duffel bags into the bed and then gently claps his hand against the metal side of the vehicle, all before directing a grin Hunter's way.

"Let's hit the road," he declares, and the enthusiasm is infectious; Hunter instantly finds himself nodding and clambering into the passenger's side of the cab.

The mountain scenery whizzes past them as Sebastian maneuvers the truck down the dirt road that leads out of town and to the main highway. Hunter fixes his gaze out the window, staring hollowly at the wooden buildings and the occasional face that turns to watch their departure. He is past the point of hoping they won't recognize him. Besides, Sebastian's company does little to help matters—they are the two black sheep of Brook Springs, the ones that everyone else chooses to talk about. Fortunately, Hunter finds it a bit easier to accept this fact when he has Sebastian at his side. The way in which the other man always carries himself, never batting an eye at the attention, provides an example for Hunter to try and follow. If Sebastian doesn't let the gossip bother him, well, perhaps Hunter can manage to as well.

The first hour or so passes with little fanfare. The truck has terrible radio reception, leaving them with nothing but crackling static as they wind through turn after turn of trees and crumbling rock. Hunter rolls down his window after awhile and hooks his arm around the doorframe, fingers dangling outside of the vehicle as they drum an absent tune against the chipped paint. It's liberating, speeding down the highway with Brook Springs hardly more than a hazy memory, already miles away. His camera bag rests in the foot well, nestled between his calves, and Hunter decides to reach down and move it into his lap so that he can extract the device. Sebastian shoots him a sideways glance as he does so, the corner of his mouth quirking up for a split second before he turns back to the road.

"I feel like the only time you aren't attached to that thing is when you're sleeping," he comments.

Powering on the camera and hooking the strap around his neck, Hunter replies, "is that a crime?"

"No." Sebastian snorts, causing Hunter's eyebrows to jump up in amusement. He lifts his camera and quickly snaps a picture of the other man as he laughs, one hand on the wheel while the other hovers casually over the gearshift, the scenery a blur against the line of his profile. "Hey—not while I'm driving."

"Sorry," Hunter mutters, his smile small and lopsided as he turns back the other direction and carefully maneuvers himself so that he can stick his head out the window, camera clutched between his palms. He rotates around to peer up at the sky with nearly his entire torso hanging out of the car, watching as the occasional tree branch fractures the sunlight that beats down. He positions the viewfinder in front of his eye. _Click._

"If you fall, I'm leaving you here," Sebastian calls out.

Hunter doesn't deem the statement with a response.

He snaps a couple more photographs before slinking back into the cab and depositing his camera on the bench seat between them. Sebastian is merely shaking his head, and Hunter finds himself smiling again, his shoulders rising in a shrug as he asks, "what?"

"You just seem different."

"Getting out of Brook Springs for a little while can do wonders for a person," Hunter explains. His voice is quieter now, expression mellowing as he calmly fiddles with his camera in his lap and turns to stare mindlessly out the front windshield. Sebastian's eyes are a tangible weight for another second, until the other man has to focus on driving, and Hunter sighs a bit as his attention is directed away.

He isn't ready for the questions, not yet. He knows that this trip is going to dredge up memories, truths, and everything in between—for the both of them—but it's too early. Too soon. Hunter simply wants to float along in the anonymity for a little while longer.

They stop for lunch about an hour or so later, at some nameless diner right off the side of the highway. They get their food to go and eat it in the bed of the truck, Hunter perched on the edge of the open tailgate while Sebastian leans against the back of the cab, legs extended in front of him. There is little conversation. As Hunter chews, he allows his eyes to remain on Sebastian's ankle as they trace the swirl of colors of the band that is wrapped around the skin there. It's almost a habit by now, one that even Sebastian has seemed to catch onto. This time, he merely tilts his lips upwards before dropping a french fry into his mouth and offering no further elaboration despite Hunter's obvious curiosity.

The rest of the trip passes in a similar silence. They manage to capture radio reception about two hours outside of Denver, and from there, it is easier. Hunter fiddles with the dial while Sebastian drums his fingers against the steering wheel and even hums along to a song here or there, the sound low and smooth. It has Hunter reclining back into the seat, his body relaxing against the leather as the music lulls him into a state of half-consciousness. The wind lashes at his skin and ruffles the front of shirt, but it is a welcome sensation, refreshing. His breathing settles into a rhythm, _in, out,_ chest rising and falling at a steady pace, and it's been ages since he's felt so at peace. Sebastian must be able to tell, because he doesn't say a word, not even to pester Hunter like he normally would or request that they stop for a break. They drive straight through to the city, Hunter dozing the entire way there, and he only opens his eyes again when he feels a gentle hand on his knee.

Sebastian is a fuzzy outline at his side, and Hunter has to blink in order for his gaze to clear. "We're here," Sebastian declares. His palm is gone a beat later, but Hunter swears he can still feel the heat leaking into his leg.

He swallows before shakily climbing out of the truck.

They retrieve their bags from the back, Hunter already tucking his camera bag close against his side, and then proceed to the front entrance of the motel they are supposedly staying at. It is small and nondescript, a two-story building towards the outskirts of Denver with white paint and feebly kept-up flower beds. The man behind the front desk wordlessly hands over their key as soon as Sebastian says _two queens, please, _and then they are trekking upstairs to deposit their things and scope out where they'll be sleeping for the next few days.

The walls are a soft shade of green, and the room contains curtains to match. Sebastian snorts upon seeing this and mutters, "tacky." He unceremoniously dumps his bag onto the bed nearest the window, then adds, "we should go out. I need to stretch my legs after all of that driving."

Carefully placing his camera bag on the small table in the corner, Hunter keeps his head down as he responds, "right now?"

"Not _out_-out." When Hunter finally turns around, Sebastian is there, just a few steps away. He wears a hesitant smile on his face. "Just to walk around, see the area a little bit. Tomorrow we'll head downtown so I can pick up my stuff."

_What stuff?_ Hunter aches to ask, but manages to bite his tongue. He obviously hasn't managed to disguise his insecurity at the concept of a night on the town, however, because now Sebastian is looking at him as if he is some timid, petrified creature that needs to be comforted with a pat on the head, and as he rushes to reassure Hunter—

Well, Hunter is torn between being grateful for the understanding and wanting to smack the expression off of Sebastian's perfectly sculpted features.

But he nods. "Sounds good."

Sebastian's mouth shifts into a grin.

After pulling his camera out of its case and looping the strap over his neck, Hunter waits for Sebastian to grab his keys and phone, and then they head out. It's still early evening, just the faintest beginnings of nightlife peppering each block as they walk, and Hunter watches the first splotches of pinks and oranges in the sky as they appear on the horizon, the sun dipping lower. Denver is beautiful. There is no doubt about it, even here in the quieter areas, where Sebastian and Hunter walk side by side and silently move further into town. The buildings are rustic, the faces friendly and blessedly ignorant, and Hunter has to pick up his camera and track their progress, each flash bursting in the dim light of dusk.

Sebastian picks up his pace slightly after a few minutes, then spins around so that he is walking backwards, his gaze focusing on Hunter as he works. Hunter places his tongue in his cheek and moves to snap a photo, but abruptly, Sebastian stops in front of a nearby telephone pole and motions for Hunter to step closer. "C'mere a second."

Somewhat bewildered, Hunter allows his camera to fall slack around his neck and obeys. As he moves into Sebastian's space, the man reaches out and, acting so quickly that Hunter barely has a moment to blink, snakes the camera strap from around Hunter's neck before dancing out of his reach. Hunter opens his mouth to curse in protest, but the words leave him when Sebastian's lips simply curl up into a smirk as he places one finger over them in a _be quiet_ gesture.

"Fold your arms over your chest and lean against the pole for a second," Sebastian commands, ducking his head to power on the camera. Hunter remains stationary for another couple of seconds, his eye roll of disbelief impossible to conceal, but eventually he does as Sebastian asks.

The sound of the shutter closing and opening reaches his ears as Hunter stares out into the street, his eyes catching the change of a nearby stoplight as it melds from red into green. "What is with you and your constant need to take my picture?"

"I told you already. You're photogenic," Sebastian replies flippantly, his smile evident from behind the camera. Hunter reflexively smiles back, and another _click _echoes through the air. He then automatically stops smiling and fixes another cool expression onto his face, flexing his fingers from where they are tucked into his armpits.

"I don't like this," Hunter voices.

"Well, too damn bad."

Narrowing his eyes, Hunter straightens up and steps away from the telephone pole just to spite the other man, and Sebastian huffs out a breath in response. He begrudgingly returns Hunter's camera while mumbling, "touchy, touchy."

Hunter fixes the camera strap around his neck and flashes Sebastian a sarcastic smile before the two of them are back to trudging along, their footsteps shuffling along the pavement. The deeper into the city they get, the more alive it seems to become; flashing signs, hushed laughter, the distant thump of music and of plates clattering together. Sebastian's profile is lit by the glow of the streetlights as they walk, and Hunter silently takes a photo before returning his attention to the scenery. He ignores the way Sebastian's mouth tips up at the corner without the man even turning to glance at him.

They wander the streets for a good hour, exchanging short comments with one another as Hunter grasps his camera between both hands to capture everything and nothing. A particularly old brick building, the outline of the mountains in the distance, Sebastian's fingertips as they hover over a torn flier that is taped to the door of an abandoned looking warehouse. There is just so much to see and _remember; _Denver is everything that Brook Springs is not. When Hunter tells Sebastian as much, the man buries his hands in his pockets and raises his eyes thoughtfully to the sky.

"You think _this _is something," he remarks quietly, "you should see Los Angeles. All of the lights, the people...it's something else entirely."

Hunter's fingers falter against the focus switch as the words sink in. "Is that where you lived before?" he asks quietly.

They are standing at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively. Sebastian has paused at the corner as they wait for the light to turn green, and his head swivels around just slightly so that he can cast a peculiar look in Hunter's direction. His gaze is like a leaden weight in the now darkness, and Hunter's breath abruptly hitches in his throat. He's done it; he's asked the question, and if Sebastian answers, all remnants of their previous silent agreement will have been shattered. Hunter doesn't know if he wants the answer or not, now; because if Sebastian divulges the information, eventually Hunter will have to as well.

He isn't ready for that. He doesn't think he'll ever be ready.

But that doesn't really matter as a hushed "yes" falls from Sebastian's lips.

The word is sharp and pierces the veil of night like a bullet, lodging itself into the serenity of the moment and causing it to crumble. Hunter can feel his broken sense of security fluttering down into a pile of dust at his feet.

The light switches. Neither of them moves.

"I can't—" Hunter rasps out.

The figure on the _walk _sign flashes in warning. Sebastian's hand darts out, fingers curling around Hunter's elbow to guide him forward and across the street without another word.

_Not yet,_ the touch says. _I understand._

His palm lingers against the skin for another long moment before they head back in the direction of the hotel.


End file.
